


Reborn

by 00javierbardem



Category: 00silva - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/00javierbardem/pseuds/00javierbardem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is at a club one night when he suddenly sees a man that he recognizes. Everything spirals out of control after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chocolate-Haired Man

Bond vaguely recognized the chocolate brown-haired man that currently stood across from him. His posture was straight and proper, his stance reeked of confidence and wealth. This man appeared as if he hadn’t a single care in the entire world. Yet there was something so irritatingly familiar about him that it nearly drove Bond completely mad. What it was, that he did not know. 

Bond strode towards the man and gave an intentional bump to his shoulder, but made it seem accidental.

“My apologies,” Bond casually said. The man’s expression hardly changed except for a subtle twitch in the corner of his mouth and a glint in his eye that only an agent with years of experience could detect.

“No need,” the man politely replied. His voice was deep, rugged, and foreign, perfectly matching his appearance. A Catalan accent pranced on this man’s every word in such a way that Bond was absolutely certain this man had no troubles with women.

“I’m sorry,” Bond said after a rather awkward pause. “There is something about you that seems so familiar. Have I met you before?” The man smiled without revealing teeth at this.

“Perhaps. It is a small world after all,” the man responded nonchalantly. Bond suddenly felt that something was terribly off. He felt a slight tenseness in the air, as if this man was holding back for all he was worth. Holding back what, Bond was determined to find out.

“What is your name?” Bond asked, immediately feeling foolish. He should have known better than to ask such a mediocre question, knowing full well that this man could easily deliver a false identity. The man turned his head to stare at the bar, taking a sip from his glass of champagne.

“Names. What an irrelevant purpose they are. What exactly is the point of a name, hm? Why shall we be labeled by such a term that some of us don’t even like? You should know, being the double-oh-agent that you are.” Bond’s heart stopped and his blood ran cold. This man knew exactly who he was and who he worked for. He had no doubt in his mind that he and this man had crossed paths before. Now he needed to know when.

“It would seem that they are indeed irrelevant, yes. However, being on an important mission here, I find no time whatsoever to complain about names,” Bond stated coolly, convincingly shrugging off the fact that this man knew who he was. The man scoffed, furrowing his brow and turning his head away as if disgusted with such an opinion.

“Yes, but if they truly define how we are called, don’t you find it a bit imperative to at least maintain one that you’re comfortable with?” The man was slowly unravelling more and more about himself, and with each sentence he spoke, Bond’s mind was progressively solving the puzzle, piece by piece.

“I’ve changed my name before. What a long time ago. It was for reasons that you already know but are completely unaware of at the present time because as I continue to drawl out my opinions on such a meaningless subject, you are trying to solve the mystery as to who I am and how I know who you are, well, secrets shall unveil themselves, won’t they Mr. Bond?” Bond narrowed his eyes, rather impressed and just how cunning this man was. He definitely has worked for MI6 before. 

“Now you’re thinking that my level of slyness, I must have worked for MI6 before and as you scroll down the list of names of people you have encountered, you cautiously approach one particular name that you nearly skip over because it seems so ridiculously impossible for that particular man to be standing right in front of you because you swore that he was long gone, well, James, he isn’t.” The man was once again absolutely right, and just at the same pace he spoke, James’s mind did exactly that. And just as he approached that specific name, the man standing in front of him grinned before patting James’s shoulder and striding away. 

No. It wasn’t possible. He could not be alive. There was no way in the world. He had watched the man collapse to the ground. But yet, the man matched his shape and the accent and the eyes. Yes, it was definitely possible. It seems that Bond was not the last rat standing after all.

Bond’s eyes surfed the crowd of people that were standing around and socializing in the club, searching for the brown-haired man that shouldn’t even be alive again.


	2. Silva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silva is back, but what is his plan???

The dimly lit club made it extremely difficult to spot the particular man, even with Bond’s keen eyesight. Heads with a variety of colored tops surrounded Bond, swaying and socializing. But wait, there was a brown-haired man smoothly easing through the crowd like a knife through butter. He was headed towards the men’s room. Bond followed, although the seed of a bad feeling about the whole situation had already been planted and was quickly growing throughout his core, causing butterflies in his stomach. Bond hadn’t felt nervous in years. He ignored the feeling and pressed on.

The bathroom was a luxurious brightly-lit open space with pearly white stalls and walls. The grey tile floors were spotless. The chocolate-haired man was bent over the sink, splashing cool water into his face from the faucet. He didn’t even glance up when he heard the door open.

“You’re still utterly predictable, I see,” the man said ruggedly, leaning to stare at his own reflection in the mirror. Bond swallowed, not realizing just how dry his throat was until then.

“You on the other hand, Mr. Silva, have continued to surprise me,” Bond stated, not even caring to keep up his professional MI6 image anymore. The man standing across from him was suddenly the only thing that mattered. 

Silva spun around, water still dripping from his worn face. There was something completely different about him, whether it was his appearance or the aging on his face, he seemed like a different man. Like M’s death had never even occurred.

“Why are you here?” Bond firmly asked, nearly afraid to know the answer, although he couldn't deny his hungry excitement that Silva was still alive. Yet he didn’t know why he felt such a way. Silva smirked, the first hint of playfulness that Bond had detected all night flashed in his golden eyes. 

“I would have thought you wanted to know how I am here, but I’ll spare you the monologue. I’m sure you have plenty of recollections of those, don’t you James?” Silva’s voice was slowly becoming lighter and more flamboyant with each beautifully pronounced syllable. This was the Silva he knew. 

Bond narrowed his eyes, unsure of what cards Silva was playing, or by what rules, but Bond had to know the reason for Silva’s return, so he was all in. He took a confident step towards the opposite man, displaying his decision. 

“Why. Are. You. Here.” Bond said, making it clear that it was no longer a question. Silva grinned, and an eerily mischievous glint faded into his eyes as if to say “game on.” He stepped forward as well, and Bond noted that up close, he didn’t appear quite as aged and exhausted. At least, Bond hoped it was just the distance. 

“Oh, James. Don’t you miss this?” Silva questioned, his warm delicious breath floating in front of Bond’s face, causing him to feel dizzy.

“Miss what?” Bond asked, passing off the wooziness without missing a beat. Silva chuckled, those familiar wrinkles forming near his eyes as he laughed.

“There is no need to pretend, James. Oh, how immature you’re being. I truly hope that this will wear off when you awake,” Silva scoffed. Bond barely had time to even react to his statement before he felt an achingly familiar sharp pang in his neck. He backed away from Silva and pulled the sleep dart from his neck, muttering a variety of curses as he did. He gaped in awe, looking from the dart to Silva and back again. The world started to seem distant, and as he faded away, he barely heard Silva utter a “Goodnight Darling,” before all was a blur and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2!


	3. Dream A Dream of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond has a nightmarish dream sequence

Darkness. That was all he saw. A blackness surrounded him so opaque and constricting that Bond nearly felt sick. He seemed to be floating, almost as if he was underwater, but he wasn’t holding his breath. He stared into the darkness, frightened by what could possible lay behind it. Wait. He could see something. A tiny hole the size of a quarter was in the wall of black. through it, there was a teal light shining through, like a hole had been punctured in the wall. Slowly, the hole grew in size, spreading like a venom throughout the wall, through it, Bond could see the ocean floor and rays of sunlight shimmering on the surface, penetrating the sea like it was a thin cloth.

Bond swam towards the gaping opening, and once he was through it, a tingling sensation filled his body. It felt as if a thousand ants were crawling upon his skin. He scanned around the environment, unsure of what to do until he saw a long object falling in the distance. He squinted his eyes, but still could not make out what it was. He thrust his arms and legs to glide towards it.

As soon as he was close enough to tell what it was, his heart froze. It was no object. It was Silva, no, Tiago, falling, sinking into the ocean’s grasp. His eyes were closed and he wasn’t breathing. An object shimmered in his hand. It was a knife, no, it was the knife that Bond had thrown into his back just years before. 

Suddenly, blood poured like a dense fog out of a wound in Tiago’s bare back. It slithered through the ocean like a snake, twirling and contorting into some sort of shape. Wait. No. Oh God no. It was a skull. The very skull that had warned Bond and M to think on their sins. The skull’s eyes glowed a red that was so vibrant, Bond had to turn his head to avoid being blinded. Once he opened his eyes, the skull was gone, and so was Tiago. In fact, Bond was no longer underneath the sea. He was on some sort of island.

The island’s sand was a soft white, sparkling under the heat of the summer sun. Palm trees swayed about in the cool ocean breeze, and the sea itself glistened as far as the eye could see. Bond turned around.

A young boy stood beside him, no older than ten or eleven. He had dark brown hair and big innocent eyes. He peered up at Bond with a look of curiosity. 

“Como te llamas?” The boy asked. Bond stared at the boy in confusion. “What is your name?” The boy repeated in English.

“James,” Bond replied. A curiosity began to drizzle through his veins. Who was this boy? Why was he here?

“James,” the boy repeated thoughtfully, turning to gaze at the sea. After a brief pause, the young boy giggled. “That’s my name!” The boy announced gleefully, a proud smile spreading across his lips. There was another pause, longer this time, before the boy spoke again.

“Can I show you something, James?” The child asked. Bond reluctantly nodded before the boy clutched his hand and pulled him across the island impatiently. He led Bond further across the shore where there was a large rectangular hole neatly dug in the sand. Small sticks bordered the perimeter of it. When Bond peered inside, he instantly felt sick. Rats. Dozens of them, slaughtered and bloody except for two, who were barely alive themselves. They sat face-to-face, each of them bloody with scars and wounds. They shook violently, unable to move.

“My grandmother says that this is the right way to get rats off an island,” the boy announced, only when he spoke, he was no longer a boy, but a man. Bond’s gaze quickly shot up when he heard the man’s voice, and saw Silva standing there, peering into the hole as well. His blonde locks were messily scattered about his head, and a few strands were in his pale face. He glanced up at Bond.

“The two survivors. This is what she made us,” he stated. Bond frantically backed away from the pit, and the world became a blur. Images flashed through his mind, all of them were about Tiago. Tiago as a boy, the rats, Tiago’s graduation, Tiago at MI6, Tiago and M standing in an office, Tiago furiously typing on a computer, Tiago shouting and throwing things around M’s office, Tiago in a cell, Tiago being beaten, Tiago begging for help, crying, pleading, begging, Tiago convulsing in agony, the cyanide burning Tiago’s face, Tiago crying in misery, Silva, Silva meeting Severine, Silva taking pills, Silva smashing things, throwing things, Silva meeting James, Silva in a crystal cell, Silva at Skyfall, Silva’s pained expression as he collapsed to the floor, and Silva fixing his bow tie at the club Bond had seen him at. Every image and sound echoed through Bond’s mind, torturing him to the point where he thought it would never stop. 

Then, as quickly as it had began, it ended. Bond opened his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3. Thank you all!!


	4. A New Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silva explains himself.

A wave of nausea flooded his stomach as he cleared his vision. The unmistakable smell of the ocean hung in the air, so strong bond could nearly taste it. He turned his head to the side. He was lying on a bed of sorts, still wearing the previous night’s attire. He sat up, immediately regretting it. An intense throb pulsated through his head, and he massaged his temples until it faded.

Beside the bed was a tidy little nightstand with a piece of paper and neat handwriting on it. Bond grabbed it and squinted his eyes to read: 

There are fresh clothes in the wardrobe. You are free to use the shower. I’m on the deck when you’re finished. I do trust that you won’t jump Darling.

Bond scoffed and crumpled the paper in his hands, tossing it to the floor. Then he trudged over to the bathroom and enjoyed a lengthy steaming shower.

Once finished, he wrapped himself in a towel and strolled over to the vinyl wardrobe and slid open the two doors. A pure white silk blouse hung next to a pair of black slacks on the hanger. A blue plaid pair of boxers was neatly folded underneath. Bond got dressed.

The boat’s corridors were marvelous, for lack of a better term. The carpet was a deep red, patterned with black abstract designs. The walls were a creamy white, with murals of conquistadors every now and then.

Bond reached the deck, sighing in relief from the cool sea breeze. Bond was sick of the heat, and the strong breeze felt incredible, no matter how much salt was in it. Silva was lying on an expensive leather fold-out chair scrolling through his laptop. His face lit up when Bond approached.

“James!” He greeted enthusiastically, getting up to welcome a hesitant Bond. Silva was dressed in white slacks and a thin purple button-down shirt that has only buttoned half way, giving Bond a pleasant peek at his defined chest. Dark shades covered his eyes.

“Come. Have a seat. I do apologize for having my assistant dart you, but it is a bit awkward having to ask permission to kidnap someone.” He led Bond to the chair across from him, and once the two men were seated, Silva sighed happily. 

“Isn’t the weather beautiful?” He asked joyfully. Bond merely stared in response. Silva yanked off his glasses. “What?” He asked in confusion.

“You,” Bond replied bluntly, letting his eyes fall down the opposite man’s body and back up again. “You’re so… different.” Silva’s playful expression vanished.

“People can change, James,” he said with a reassuring nod. 

“But not like this. How does one face death twice, kill dozens of innocent people, and walk around knowing that one of the only people they ever truly cared about is dead and still have a smile on their face!?” Bond hissed bitterly. For once, Silva was silent. “What are you hiding, Mr. Silva?” Silence. There was a long silence. Finally, Silva spoke.

“I wanted to die. I wanted it to be me instead of her that was killed. I spent years conflicting within myself that I wanted her to die so badly. For her to feel the pain that I felt for that period of time. I wanted her to know what it was like to have no hope, no feeling, no emotions, nothing. Nothing but pain, and after a while even that starts to fade.” Bond listened, staring intently at the man.

“These last few years, I went into hiding, unable to come out and face the world that I lived in. Unable to face myself or the monster that I had become. I attempted suicide three times, and all three of those times, I couldn’t do it. Life refuses to let go of me, no matter how hard I try. So I left. I went back to Honk Kong to face the source of it all. The place where my life had forever taken a turn for the worst. But, there was nothing. The place was gone, destroyed. It was just ash. I felt a bit of sympathy for it, despite my incident. But that’s when I realized, if life can let go a monstrous place of pain and torture, then why couldn’t I let go of the monster within myself?” Bond continued to stare, unable to take his eyes off the man.

“So I did. I let go. It wasn’t easy. It was like trying to rid of a bad habit, but I did it. I rebuilt myself on top of that ash, on top of that ruin. I changed my appearance both mentally and physically. And even after all of that was done, I still felt a sort of emptiness inside. And for months, I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. And finally I did. It was love. It was care, affection, sympathy. And the only person that had ever truly shown it, even in the smallest degree, was you, James.” Bond didn’t know exactly what to say. He didn’t really know what to feel, either, except for an incredible admiration for someone who was strong enough to let go of themselves. Bond cleared his throat and rose from the chair.

“And the knife?” He muttered. Silva gave a wry smile. Then he walked over to James, out his hand on his, and guided it to his own shirt. James unbuttoned it all the way and peeled it back. Silva slowly turned around. His back was riddled with scars of all shapes and sizes, but there was a fresh one that looked younger than all the others that was placed just to the left of his shoulder blade. Bond stared at it in confusion before Silva turned around again with a grin.

“You missed. What a terrible shot, even for a physical wreck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really difficult chapter to write. So many cards had to be played, but I hope you guys enjoy it.


	5. Pursued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond and Silva come to the horrifying realization they someone is following them.

“So, Mr. Silva, just where are we going?” Bond asked matter-of-factly. Silva smiled in response, taking a sip of expensive wine that was on the deck floor beside his chair.

“Well, James. If you’re up for it, we are headed back in time.” Bond furrowed his brow in puzzlement. Silva chuckled, lightly smacking him on the shoulder.

“We are going back to rat island per say. Don’t worry, my grandmother is long gone, but, I figured it would be a secluded quiet place to think and just be together, hm?” He asked rhetorically, smirking into his wine glass again. Bond squinted his eyes and allowed a smile to clutch the corners of his lips.

“Alright. Just where is this island?” Bond questioned casually, gazing over the ocean’s surface.

“Dear James. Secrets shall reveal themselves, no?” Silva stated, rising from his chair. Bond scoffed as if to say just how unbelievable Silva was being, when suddenly, a phone rang. Silva pulled the device from his back pocket and answered it without checking caller ID and what not.

“Yes?” He said softly. Someone on the other end spoke and Silva’s eyes swept to Bond’s gravely. His jaw hardened. “Yes, yes, we must take care of that, musn’t we?” He said, his voice much more rough and accented than before. Silva hung up, placing the phone back in his pocket, and stared at Bond, dazed.

“What is it?” Bond asked impatiently. Silva’s eyes darted in all directions as if he was thinking about something.

“That was Amador, the ship’s captain,” he said, his face as hard as a rock. Bond stared at him, waiting for his next sentence.

“And!?” Bond impatiently voiced. Silva snapped out of his temporary trance and looked Bond right in the eyes.

“We’re being followed.”

The two men raced up to the captain’s headquarters, where Amador was steering the boat, awaiting their arrival.

“Where?” Silva demanded, going to stand beside the captain to peer at the radar. Amador pointed to two blinking green lights on the radar that were approaching the ship at a progressive pace. “How long?” Silva asked, concern ringing is voice.

“At the rate they’re going, I’d estimate about twenty minutes until they catch up to the point where they can board this ship,” Amador said, maintaining his composure like a try professional. Silva turned to Bond, his eyes darker than they had been before.

“It’s MI6. It has to be,” Bond said, still staring at the radar. 

“How did they find you?” Silva asked bitterly. The cold tone of his voice snapped Bond’s eyes to his. Bond paused for a long while, thinking about how they could have possibly found him. He had no answer.

“I don’t know,” Bond finally said. Silva angrily shoved him against the wall, his hands clenching Bond’s shirt collar.

“You have to know,” he spat. Bond stared at him wide-eyed and in shock. Then, Silva’s gaze softened and his grip on Bond’s blouse vanished. 

“No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Silva drawled. 

“What?” Bond asked, dreading the answer. Silva bit knuckles and paced around the room. Bond had never seen such a calculated and clever man so anxious before. It was unnerving. Finally, Silva turned to face Amador.

“Go as fast as you can,” he ordered. The captain immediately turned around and pulled a few levers. The boat accelerated rapidly. Silva then turned to James, his eyes riddled with worry.

“I’m still a wanted criminal, James. Somehow they must have figured out that I was still alive. I don’t know who it was. It could have been Mallory or anyone could have informed him of my whereabouts or something. I just don’t know-“

“Spit it out! What are you talking about, Silva,” Bond demanded. Silva froze, but Bond could see that his mind was still going a hundred miles per hour.

“They didn’t follow you, James. They followed me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! More coming soon!


	6. MI6

Minutes flew past like a furious swarm of bees, and before the two men knew it, the MI6 boats were in sight and quickly closing in.

“What can we do!?” Bond exclaimed to Silva, who was carefully calculating the situation in his head. He shook his head in defeat.

“I don’t know. We can’t outrun them and we can’t hide from them,” Silva grumbled. Bond watched the man incredulously, before the only other alternative popped into his head.

“Then we face them.”

The boats smoothly slid across the water’s surface, coming to rest in front of Silva’s yacht. They vessels were very large, about half the size of the yacht, with a shiny black surface and heavy-duty weapons on board. There were about a dozen men on each boat, but Bond couldn’t hide his overpowering surprise of one of the men on them.

“Agent double-oh-seven!” Gareth Mallory called through an amplifier. Bond stood on the front of the yacht, leaning on the ship’s railing, peering at the head of MI6, who stood approximately thirty feet away on his own vessel. Silva came to stand beside Bond, a hardness in his eyes that Bond had never seen before.

Upon seeing Silva emerging to Bond’s side, Mallory gritted his teeth and spoke again into the amplifier.

“Mr. Silva, you are wanted for your arrest at MI6 and in all of Britain. If you do not come willingly, we will use force to ensure that you do!” Silva glanced at Bond, then sunk his gaze downwards as if he still felt guilty about being a wanted criminal. Bond quickly rushed to defend him.

“Sir, with all due respect, this man has done nothing that should result in such forceful tactics!” Bond shouted over the engine of the ships.

“And you, double-oh-seven. If you insist in remaining in defense of this criminal, you will face charges of your own.” Bond looked at Silva, who was staring at the ocean’s surface, seemingly ignoring everything the head of MI6 was explaining.

“Well, then. I guess I’m just as much a crook as he is,” Bond replied. Mallory shook his head, appalled.

“I must say double-oh-seven, I am disappointed. Not only have you betrayed MI6, but you have committed an act of treachery to your country as well.” Silva finally spoke.

“Then he is no better than any of you yourself,” Silva growled, an anger festering within his core, dripping into his voice. “You pretend that you care. You pretend that you’re doing it all for your country, cleaning the streets with plotting criminals with a grudge like you say I am. No. You are instigators. You are traitors. You don’t care about James, all you want is for him to get the job done. If he died, would your mourn? No, you wouldn’t. Nobody mourned for me, even though you all knew exactly where I was and why. Nobody cared. You, you are monster here, Mallory. You are the traitor.” Silva’s words flowed out like a boiling pot of water, overflowing and spitting out the words in a frightening manner. Mallory stared at Silva intently, and for a brief second, he seemed to understand. But Bond knew better than that.

“Then we shall use force,” Mallory calmly responded, before walking to the back of the ship. Dozens of agents dressed in military uniforms began to open fire. Bullets whizzed by, buzzing in Bond’s ear before he and Silva dove for cover behind a wooden crate on the deck.

“Go!” Silva shouted and Bond, nudging him forward. “Quickly! To the captain’s headquarters!” The two men ducked their heads low and raced as fast as they could in a crouching position to the top of the boat.

They finally made it, and Amador was awaiting their arrival impatiently.

“We need a distraction!” Bond shouted, trying to be louder than the sound of gunfire that was beating the room’s window. Luckily, it was bulletproof glass.

“What kind of distraction!?” Amador yelled back, wincing at the bullets pounding the window. Bond spun around, seeking Silva for any assistance in a plan, but he stopped dead in his tracks. Silva was doubled over, clutching his left side in agony. Blood poured out from in between his fingers, thick and persistent. Silva looked up at Bond, concern flooding his dark eyes.

“I’m hit,” he grunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit in a rush to get this one out to you guys. Here you go though!


	7. Infirmary

Bond dashed over to Silva and kneeled down, gently moving his hand away from the wound. Blood leaked out of from a tear in his shirt, spilling out and dripping onto the floor with a sickening pace.

“Good news,” Bond announced calmly, despite the chaos behind him. “You’ve only been grazed. But judging by the placement, you may have broken a rib.” Silva nodded in understand, hissing in pain. Bond turned to Amador, who had crouched behind the control board.

“I need to get him to the infirmary quickly. Can I count on you to get us out of this mess?” Bond shouted.

“Yes sir!” Amador dutifully replied. Bond then lifted Silva, putting his arm around him for support.

“Let’s go!”

Fortunately, the infirmary wasn’t far off, but it was still a challenge getting there with bullets whizzing by your ear. As they headed towards the clinic, they felt the sensation of the yacht accelerating rapidly. Hopefully Amador knew what he was doing.

The two men reached the infirmary and were blasted with air-conditioning. The clinic was relatively large and appeared exactly how you’d think it would, complete with white walls, white-tiled floor, and the soft odor of medicine and chemicals. A young nurse with long brown hair rushed towards the men as soon as she saw them enter.

“What happened!?” She exclaimed, assisting Bond in hoisting Silva on the hospital bed.

“He was shot,” Bond replied bluntly. Silva groaned as he twisted his body to comfortably lay on the bed. The nurse quickly raced to the counters, yanking open drawers and grabbing handfuls of surgical supplies. Bond stood idly by, staring at Silva with growing concern. Finally, the nurse revisited a grimacing Silva, and used the surgical scissors to cut open his shirt, tossing the pieces of it in the trash.

“That was vintage,” Silva grumbled. Bond couldn’t help but smirk. He took the opportunity to examine Silva’s bare chest, which was sprinkled with pale white scars o fall shapes and sizes. His back was far worse off.

The nurse began to clean up the wound, and dabbed a cloth drenched in alcohol on the cut and was met with a growl of pain from the man she applied it to.

“Sorry,” she muttered under her breath. She eventually stitched the cut closed, and began to examine his rib, which miraculously, wasn’t damaged.

“He’s good to go. He’ll be sore for a while, but he’ll be fine,” she whispered to Bond after pulling him out of the room.

“Great. Now what to do about the MI6 boats currently attacking us,” Bond responded sarcastically. As if on cue, Amador dashed into the room, panting from the run.

“They’re gone sir. They left,” he stated, catching his breath. Bond narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“They just turned around and left?” Bond questioned in disbelief. Amador nodded frantically. Bond paused for a moment, thinking. Finally, he strolled out of the clinic, gesturing for Amador to follow.

“Why do you think they simply left, sir?” Amador asked from behind Bond.

“I don’t know, but it’s what he’s gone planned next that worries me.”


	8. Lost In Your Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Silva take care of issues on board the ship, as well as get a little closer.

James dashed down to the cabin he awoke from, and rummaged through the pile of clothes that he had worn the previous night. Nothing. There was no tracker and no sign of anything that MI6 could have used to locate him. 

James threw the laundry across the room in frustration, and kicked the bathroom wall hard enough to chip a large portion of it off. 

How could this possibly happen? Silva was a changed man now. None of this was fair. THey were gonna arrest him, and knowing Mallory, have him terminated, and... James could not tolerate even the glimpse of the thought of Silva being killed. He clenched his fists tightly enough for his knuckles to fade white, pressing them to his face and silently bawled. This was all his fault. 

James sunk to the floor in a blubbering heap, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in them, emitting sobs that he had held back for years. All of the heartbreak, all of the fears, all of the pain, and all of the sorrow poured out of James's piercing blue eyes like a never-ending rain that he was so enveloped in, he didn't even notice Silva standing awkwardly in the doorway, clutching his side.

"It's really good to let it out, you know," Silva remarked, startling James out of his meltdown. "Healthy, I mean. I stopped holding back a long time ago." James gazed up at him with bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks.

"How's your wound?" James asked casually, as if he hadn't just been caught in a complete emotional disaster. Silva shrugged.

"Hurts like a bitch, but I'll be alright." James chuckled at this. Silva reached into his back pocket and tossed a small square object to James, which he caught, and stared at dumbfoundedly. "That had been placed in my back pocket last night, of all places," Silva explained with a wry smile. James stared up at the man in near confusion. Silva scoffed. "Don't you remember, James? It's called radio."

The two men headed out onto the deck, where the sunlight blazed and hit James like a smack in the face. Silva slowly made his way over to the edge of the boat, and placed his hand on the railing for balance.

"Would you do the honors, James?" He asked delightfully, and James made a show of approaching the railing and hurling the tracker as far as he possibly could. It hit the water with an inaudible splash thirty yards away.

"Nice arm," Silva muttered with a grin, which James returned.

Night fall came far too slowly for James, who felt completely and utterly worn out from the day's incidents. He was relaxing on the bed in his cabin when Silva emerged in the room's doorway and kncoked on the wall.

"So much for privacy," James sarcastically murmured.

"You're the one who leaves the door open, and at least I knocked," Silva fired back playfully, stepping into the room to sit on the edge of James's bed. James sat up and scooted forward to sit beside the man. Silva sat there, trying to regather his words, which had been scattered into a stuttering pile at James's closeness.

"Sorry," Silva muttered, furrowing his brow. He could nearly smell James's cologne, which was musky and fresh, and his head spun. "I just came to wish you a good night and let you know that we should arrive at the island before noon tomorrow."

James nodded his head and stared at the man beside him, who was still having difficulty containing himself.

"Silva, if there is anything you want to say, just say it," James announced, trying to lure the man out of his internal conflict. Silva gazed up at him, his soft brown eyes burrowing into James's, making a home for themselves. James suddenly felt all too vulnerable, but his every instinct dared him to keep staring into Silva's dark pools, to swim in them until he got lost. James did. He nearly felt the darkness of Silva's pupils engulf him, and he felt a warmness spread throughout his veins that was undeniably comforting. But the longer he sunk in the darkness, the colder he felt. He could feel himself getting colder and colder as he fell deeper into Silva's eyes, like the ocean. Images of awful things flashed across James's vision. Pictures of pain and suffering that had to be seen to be believed blinked across James's mind, and he felt goosebumps arise.

James suddenly felt so lost in this cold dark place that he was nearly sure it was a nightmare. But if it was a nightmare, then, James knew, that he will soon awaken. James squeezed his eyes shut tight, and after a moment, he was yanked out of this nightmare. In fact, he was forced from his nightmare into a glorious dream full of emotions and sensations he had never felt before. It was only when James opened his eyes that he realized that this dream was in fact, a reality. Because it was only when he opened his eyes that he realized Silva was kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy to be writing this one again! Hope you guys enjoy, and, as always, feedback is welcome :)


	9. Into The Furnace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Silva reach Silva's island, but they don't get too comfortable before problems arise.

Silva's lips were perhaps the best thing that ever made contact with James's entire body. They were far more intoxicating than any alcohol he had ever tasted, and the most delicious thing James had ever had the pleasure of coming across. They were soft yet hard, warm yet cold. Nothing could even remotely compare to the wonderful sensation that spread like a wildfire throughout Bond's nerves. No woman had ever been nearly as satisfying.

Bond heard Silva mumble something inaudibly, and before he knew it, the opposite man had pulled away, disappointing James far more than he would like to admit. Silva's eyes had transformed from their usual warm golden brown to a dangerous predatory black, so much so that James was momentarily unsure of whether he was looking into the eyes of a man or an animal.

"I shouldn't have done that," Silva muttered, hanging his head in shame. Bond had no time to protest before the Spaniard wished him goodnight and quickly whisked out the room, far more swiftly than when he had entered. James sat in silence for what felt like an absolute eternity before getting up to close the door, turned off the lights, and eased into a deep sleep. He dreamt of Silva.

***

James awoke at a reasonable hour, before he took a steamy shower and dressed himself in yet more clothes that had somehoe been placed in the wardrobe. This time it was a silvery silk button-down blouse with a pair of expenisive white trousers that fitted him rather nicely. James strolled up to the boat's deck, curious and unsure of just how Silva would act based on the night before.

The weather was exactly the same today, with a cool salty sea-breeze and a baking sun that hardly bothered the agent after his training to dwell in extreme conditions. James spotted Silva, who was lounging in a rather tight-fitting navy blue shirt and beige pants that rolled up at his calves and hugged his physique quite marvelously. He was propped against the railing at the front of the yacht, gazing off into the distance. His eyes lit up when James approached.

"Ah, James!" He exclaimed gleefully, bringing his hand to rest on Bond's shoulder. "There is something I want to show you," he announced as he gestured out to sea. James let his vision focus on a beautiful island that couldn't be more than ten miles away. 

"Marvelous, isn't it?' Silva admired delightfully. James wondered what had happened last night, and why he was covering it up with this jolly attitude, but he decided to passively let it go. "We should be there within the hour," Silva continued. The island looked magnificent, even from this distance. Massive palm trees that glowed with an enthusiastic green were planted firmly on the island's beach, surrounded by pure white sand and crystal-clear water. James glanced over at Silva, who made no effort to hide that he was staring at James's face with an unreadble expression.

"Hm?" Silva asked after a short pause. James scoffed.

"Nothing to boast of, you said," he retorted, gesturing to the beautiful island that he had a new found excitement for. Silva chuckled.

"I also did say that I was a kid, and children, oof, they have no appreciation for beauty," Silva replied with a charming grin. James laughed and gazed at the island again. Actually, his new found was not simply for the island, but for being on that island with Silva.

***

The ship reached the island in the next half hour or so, and Silva generously thanked Amador for his loyal service before exiting the boat with James by his side. James turned and watched as the ship slowly retreated and made it's way around the island.

"Where do they go?" James asked curiously.

"They have their own little head quarters across the island," Silva replied before escorting James through the jungle brush. The men followed a narrow trail that looked like it had been created a century ago, and many plants and trees had grown over it, their branches reaching out to jab the two in the sides every now and then.

Finally they emerged onto an area of freshly cut grass that ranged about an acre. But it was what sat beautifully upon this grass that truly took James's breath away. A mansion with two massive white pillars guarding it's entrance and large windows beside it's colossal front door. Then entire thing looked so unbelievably out of place that James completely forgot that he was on an island. In fact, he nearly expected people with flashing cameras to ambush them, because this house looked like it belonged more on a Hollywood street.

Silva soaked in the awe on James's face, and when the agent turned to him, he smiled.

"I had some remodeling done," Silva remarked jokingly. James was in a state of mild shock.

The two settled in in the glorious mansion, and Silva eagerly gave James a mind-blowing tour. James felt more like he was at a ball than in a person's home. There was a grand staircase in the middle of the room upon entering the house with thick red carpet running down it's center. The first floor was a white marble, with specks of beige and grey creatively scattered upon it. the second floor was the same, with two gigantic master bedrooms with king size beds and deep blue carpets. 

"This is incredible," James muttered unintentionally aloud. Silva smirked in flattery.

"I try," he responded.

After the tour, Silva and James were conversing about the grand house when Silva winced and clutched his side.

"Are you alright?" James asked with concern. Silva nodded.

"I'm fine, just, still sore. Maybe I should go clean it up," he stated with a grimace. James placed his hands underneath Silva's shoulders to keep him stable.

"Let me help you," James insisted. Silva didn't object as the two slowly hobbled into the huge bathroom. Silva sat on the edge of the tub, which really was more of a small pool.

"There is first-aid in the drawers," Silva grunted, pointing to the bathroom cabinets. James rummaged through them, perhaps a bit more frantically than he meant to. He gathered some alcohol, gauze, scissors, paper towels, and some medical tape before coming to kneel beside Silva.

"Take your shirt off," James said, and Silva began to unbutton his blouse, but struggled to peel it off his shoulders because of the throbbing pain in his ribs. "Here, let me help," James demanded as Silva's frustration grew. James gently pulled the shirt off the man's shoulders, then slid it down his arms and off his wrists. "There we go," James whispered.

Silva's wound was fortunately, not infected, but it had turned an angry and inflamed red. James poured a small amount of alcohol on a paper towel and lightly pressed it onto the wound. Silva hissed in pain. 

"Sorry," James unnecessarily apologized. Silva shook his head.

"Don't be. I'm the one who they followed. If it weren't for myself, I wouldn't have even been shot," Silva joked. James laughed at this. "If anything, I'm sorry. Especially about last night." James raised his eyebrows. He didn't expect Silva to bring it up.

"What happened?" James asked as he cut off a strip of gauze with the scissors. Silva furrowed his brow.

"I don't know. I just felt a lot of things and- a lot of thoughts crossed my mind," Silva softly explained. James glanced up at him in confusion.

"What kind of thoughts?" He asked.

"I don't know. I just thought of the metal plate in my mouth and all of my scars. I'll never have a beautiful body, James. I will always look like- like this," Silva explained, raising his arm to show James the nasty scars he bears. James got off his knees and sat on the tub beside Silva before placing his fingers under the man's chin and guiding his face towards his own.

"Raoul Silva, you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen," James said sincerely, then he kissed Silva for a long while. When he pulled away, Silva, for the first time ever, actually seemed surprised. "That was for everything," James muttered before kneeling back down and tending to Silva's wound.

***

James and Silva were lounging on the plush leather couches later that evening, just before sunset. Silva was lying with his shirt unbuttoned and lying limply by his sides, reading a book about war, while James was lounging in a white T-shirt and plaid trousers, flipping through television channels. Suddenly, Silva's phone rang.

"Yes?" Silva answered. "What kind of noise? .... Alright, I'll take a look .... Thank you, Amador," he spoke before hanging up. James stared at him blankly.

"Amador said he heard peculiar noises outside in the brush just behind the house. I'll go check it out."

"Should I come with you?" James asked. Silva reached behind one of the book cases and pulled out a rather large pistol. He held it up.

"I've got this covered," he said with a grin. James scoffed at the man as he walked out the back door. Several minutes passed and Silva hadn't returned. James couldn't deny that his concern was steadily growing. More time passed and James finally switched off the TV and headed out the back door to search for Silva.

The sun was just barely obscured by the tall treetops, and a pink-ish glow was cast throughout the island. James warily wandered through the soft grass, peering as far as his eyes could manage for Silva. There was nothing. 

"James," a raspy voice whispered from behind him. James spun around, ready to attack, but stopped dead in his tracks. Silva was leaned back, his bare chest fully exposed, clutching an arm that was tightly wrapped around his neck. That arm belonged to Gareth Mallory, and Silva's gun was pressed to his own head. James was fully prepared to lunge at the man viciously if not for the two other MI6 agents that had their guns readily pointed at him. Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! This one took a while because it is a bit longer than the others and I wanted everything to be worded nicely. Feedback is welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the support. I really really appreciate it. This is for you guys. Enjoy! More coming soon!


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